Sherlock's Seamstress
by Rucastle'Madness
Summary: Watson always wondered where Holmes got his fine handkerchiefs, and why Holmes never told him. One-Shot.


_Author's note: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or Dr. Watson. Please enjoy this story._

As Amelia's closest friend, I feel it is my duty to at least put her story to paper. I am sure it is a common enough story on its own, but as one of the leading characters became rather famous throughout London, the story became singular. Amelia is a seamstress. She has a talent with a needle that few people understand; she is in point of fact an artist. But as is the case, her art was in little demand, and she was forced to take in mending and other menial work. Even though her position is ordinary the circumstances surrounding her shop are extraordinary. A little known fact is that she owns her own shop, and she opened it when she was nineteen. As to women owning property at that time, for her to be self-sufficient she . . . well rather invented a husband. It was necessary. She posed as a married woman for some years, and then after that as a widow. To understand how she became involved with Sherlock Holmes, you must hear the story of how they met.

It is closely connected to how Amelia procured the funds for her shop. As she wasn't actually married she was forced to be party to some of the shadier dealings in a certain part of London. I believe the term is loan shark, but I have been mistaken before. Amelia had been referred to a certain opium den in Whitechapel, I was against it from the start, but Amelia has always done what she wanted, whenever she wanted. Strong-willed isn't a forceful enough word to describe her, but it must do. But she is uncommonly clever, and resourceful, and eluded me completely that night, so I can only repeat what she, herself told me. She had hired a male actor to pose as her husband, a Mr. McElroy, I believe. He accompanied her to the meeting place, when I learned this fact I was appeased somewhat. But what transpired there makes me hot and cold all at the same time.

"Mr. McElroy ushered me into a dingy room, in Paul Eversham's opium den. Eversham was standing behind his battered desk trying to look imposing I suppose, but the overall effect was rather pathetic. He was flanked by two large men, both unwashed and surly looking. There was a third gentleman in the corner whom took me by surprise. He was as equally unwashed as the others but his cool gray eyes, bespoke of an intelligence that surpassed every man in the room." She smiled to herself. "Notice I said man, but I believe that he is even more intelligent than me." She paused, and then took up her narration again. "We surprised each other I believe, I inhaled rather quickly much to my distaste, I got lungful of the decay of the room, and he straightened quickly out of his relaxed posture, although he slumped back down into character quickly enough. I don't believe that anyone noticed the exchange, but I shall never forget it.

"We got down to business quickly enough, but something interrupted our dealings, the terms kept changing and I was growing increasingly frustrated with that snake Eversham. One of the Chinese men who worked there burst in with a knife in his back, he was quickly followed by several other armed men who began to fire into the room, the Chinese man died on the floor. The two large brutes rushed the men, and were shot, but due to their size, as I can only conjecture at this point, they continued to fight. While all this was going on I was dragged to the floor by the man with the gray eyes, he had a knife at the ready and he protected me. Mr. McElroy was cowering in a corner. I am not certain what happened next, because my protector obstructed my view and all I could see were shoes, and the dead Chinese man on the floor. At one point a man came after me with a knife. My self-appointed protector fought him, it was quick and very brutal, my protector had a rather nasty wound on his side and another on his leg, but his opponent lay on the floor before him. Mr. McElroy was nowhere to be found and Mr. Eversham, lay across his desk with several bullet wounds. Perhaps I should have been more affected by the massacre surrounding me, but I was concerned only about the man who had protected me. He was unsteady on his feet and I braced him against myself. Although he was pale with loss of blood and obviously in pain, his mind was still quite keen. "Hurry to the safe, we must get the money before Eversham's rival does. Better it goes to your shop, than to expand the opium business." So I helped the man collect several hundred pounds and we made good our escape. I brought him home. I know, I know, don't look at me that way! He was hurt and he had saved my life! Well, I did what I could for him, stitched his wounds and kept them clean. He was laid up for three days, before he got to moving around again."

Most of this information I have come by regarding Mr. Holmes is secondhand; I met Mr. Holmes only once, very briefly. Amelia, Arabella and I were having tea in Amelia's shop. She had not heard from Mr. Holmes in three years, I had given up on him and encouraged Amelia to do the same, but she was in love with him, but it was a resigned kind of love. There would never be any other man for her, because if there was, he would never come back. And she needed him to come back. He entered quietly and stood uncertainly in the doorway. I knew at once who he was because his eyes gave him away, and there was a sadness to him that was quite compelling. Even little Arabella knew enough to keep quiet; she was only ten at the time and quite precocious. Amelia turned to see what had halted my speech. Her whole countenance brightened, she calmly set down her teacup and rose to greet him. "Ah how good to see you Mr. Holmes, it has been too long. Your handkerchiefs are ready in the next room, if you would kindly wait for me there." He smiled a small smile and said, " Yes of course, I am in dire need of some good handkerchiefs." And he quietly left the room. Amelia turned to me and before she could speak, I said, "Arabella and I are going to have a sleep-over tonight, with a chess tournament!" Arabella smiled mischievously and her gray eyes twinkled. " Yes, and I am going to beat you again!" I love my goddaughter dearly! She is grown now of course, but she still beats me at chess.

I have read all of Dr. Watson's accounts and descriptions of Mr. Holmes, I have also listened to Amelia's descriptions and I am unsure as to what Mr. Holmes true character is. But I do believe that he is somewhere in between, or both for the complexity of human nature can never be untangled. But I have a theory regarding Mr. Holmes personal relationship with Amelia. I have already stated that Amelia was in love with him, I believe Mr. Holmes also loved Amelia. And yet, you ask, why did he not marry her? Why did he only visit her once or twice a year? My answer is this: he loved her too much to expose her to his fits of melancholy and his cocaine use. He protected her not only from the evils of his profession, but from himself.


End file.
